


Slowly I Turn, or, Niagara Falls

by CartWrite



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Breakfast in hotel rooms, David has a lot of feelings, Family Bonding, M/M, Ring shopping, Sex in hotel rooms, Vacation, Wedding planning is NOT going well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-13 01:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19240954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CartWrite/pseuds/CartWrite
Summary: Even though David has volunteered to spearhead the wedding planning and should be good at it, he has been utterly paralyzed when it's come to making any decisions. And now he has to spend the weekend with Patrick's parents visiting some tourist trap and he isnotokay.Thank you to WhenWhereWhy for the prompt: 'David & Patrick go on a Brewer family vacation, preferably to somewhere that pre-Schitt’s Creek David would deem disgusting but Patrick just wanted to go on vacation with his family so David obliges and he actually has the best time.' This was really fun and thank you for suggesting it. I hope you like it!





	Slowly I Turn, or, Niagara Falls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhenWhereWhy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenWhereWhy/gifts).



> Note: A lot of this fic was informed by a weekend trip I went on a few years ago to Niagara Falls where I actually had the best time. :) We had a groupon and we stayed at the hotel in the story. It's a real place. It was lovely on the inside, a short walk from the Falls, and they brought breakfast to your room. It's on the Canadian side with most of the other cool and sometimes terribly overpriced and kitchsy tourist stuff. 'Slowly I Turn' is from the famous vaudeville sketch - The Three Stooges' version is a good representation of it if you're curious: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yJBhzMWJCc

Patrick had tried. He’d lit a candle, he’d made dinner, his apartment had been set to David’s preferred temperature (slightly cooler than Patrick’s). But it had all been a trap – and not even one related to wedding planning.

David grimaced. “They do know we have a store to run, right?”

 “They do.” Patrick, in his fuzzy could-be-mistaken-for-cashmere-if-you-were-drunk-enough blue sweater, rested his folded hands on his knee. “Which is why, before my parents called me, they called your Dad at the motel. He said he’d be happy to help out covering at the store.”

“Hm, okay, well-meaning, but presumptuous of them to ask and to assume my father can work a register. He still gets stuck and hand writes motel receipts.”

“Well, and Stevie was there when they called, too. She is apparently also eager to pay you back for all the times you covered for us during choreography rehearsals.”

“She wants the wholesale wine discount, and um? I already give it to her seven times out of ten.” David shifted on the couch and folded his arms around his chest as if to literally hold himself together. He didn’t like surprises. Or rather, he did, but he liked the kind of surprises where people bought him thoughtful, tasteful presents that didn’t require more payback or time investment than a thank you.

Patrick frowned. “David, she buys a lot of wine from us.”

“Yes, more than she can afford, but let’s not have that conversation right now, let’s go back to the one where your parents have volun _told_ us to go on a weekend vacation with them to…?”

“Niagara Falls.” Patrick laughed in what was probably meant to be a reassuring way, but it came out a little panicked. “‘Slowly I turn.’”

“What? What does that mean? What are we turning?” David asked. An entire weekend of forced camaraderie with Patrick’s parents. His heartbeat felt fast. Too fast? Was he having some kind of attack?

“Oh, you know. ‘Niagara Falls.’ ‘Slowly I turn.’ That old vaudeville sketch.”

David shook his head. “No, I. What—does any of that mean?”

“I’ll find it online for you. Look, that’s not important. What is important is that we haven’t ever had a real vacation together. Not even a weekend away.”

“Yeah, and this one will be to a tourist trap with your parents, so…” _Kind of the opposite of a vacation for me,_ David decided not to add.

“They want to spend some time with me and get to know the man I’m marrying.” Patrick sighed. “David, I know this is not the ideal romantic weekend for two that maybe we would plan if we had the time or the money, but we’ve got the store covered, they’re paying, we’ve got a private room at a bed and breakfast type place—”

“What does a ‘bed and breakfast _type_ ’ place mean?” Family-style meals with the Niagara Falls equivalents of Roland and Jocelyn Schitt?

“I don’t know, David, they bring you breakfast. It’s supposed to be nice.” Patrick got up and began clearing away dinner things from the coffee table, where they ate most nights when they ate at Patrick’s.

When they ate at Patrick’s—which was actually almost every night. David frowned at the tense set of Patrick’s shoulders as he dropped dishes a little harder than usual into the sink.

Across the room, untouched for probably two weeks now, lurked the binder Patrick had made with color-coded tabs labeled things like VENUE, FOOD, and DECORATIONS. Each tab held clear folders stuffed with clippings from reception halls, caterers, florists.

Between Patrick’s knack for organization and David’s impeccable taste, it should’ve been easy. Or so David had thought. In fact, he’d been so confident post-engagement that he’d insisted he’d handle the majority of the planning. All David had to do was figure out the perfect theme, location, timing, and then execute their wedding flawlessly. No pressure. But each time he’d promised himself he would narrow it down and figure it out, he found himself doing anything rather than touch that binder. He’d even cleaned. _Cleaned._

A long weekend in Niagara Falls with Patrick’s parents sounded dire. Not that there was anything wrong with them, per se. He’d actually found Clint and Marcy Brewer to be the kind of nice, genuine people his father had used to call ‘salt of the earth.’ Which had once been a euphemism for un-moneyed yet decent people who worked for the Rose family, but over the last few years had come to mean ‘good, welcoming, and not a customer service nightmare.’ Still, David had only managed a couple of pleasant conversations in person and over the phone. Spending an entire weekend with Patrick’s parents could very well lead to Patrick’s mother spending evenings on the phone with her son saying things like _marriage is forever_ and _are you really sure he’s the one?_ And in David’s worst nightmares _you know, we always did love Rachel and I bet she’d give you another shot—_

David stared across the room at the binder. The binder that he might be able put off looking at for at least another couple of weeks if he agreed to a weekend getaway. He took a steadying breath. “I mean it’s just waterfalls, right?”

Patrick turned off the sink. “What?”

“Niagara Falls. It’s some waterfalls.” David shrugged a shoulder. “Right?”

Patrick slowly nodded. “There’s also a butterfly sanctuary. It’s like a big indoor atrium and there’s nothing but dozens of butterflies all over. It’s pretty cool.”

“So you’ve been there?” David asked.

He dried a dish. “Yeah. Not for years. But my parents like it. They go back a lot. I mean, yes, maybe it is kind of a tourist trap. But I think the kitsch is part of the appeal to them. That and the easy drive down. It’s only a couple of hours.” Patrick must’ve been able to tell David had softened, because he shot David a smile before he turned back to the sink. “They like you, you know? You made a really good impression on them at the party.”

David pressed his lips together and nodded. “Well, I will do my best not to forever change that.”

Patrick glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. “So you’re going?”

David got up, crossed the apartment, and pressed himself against Patrick as he leaned against the sink. He bent and kissed his fiancé’s neck. Every time he kissed the back of Patrick’s neck, David noticed his natural scent, the shadow of which clung to his pillows and made David want to crawl between the sheets whenever he was in the apartment alone. Patrick was the love of his life and loved him back; but David feared deep down inside that he could still screw this up, was screwing it up already, had inevitably screwed it up – and he just didn’t know it yet. “I may even attempt to have fun.”

“Oh, okay. So long as an attempt is made,” Patrick said, and turned around.

They left the dishes in the sink.

*****

“Niagara Falls!” Clint Brewer pointed out the latest highway sign as he drove them.

“Slowly I turn!” the car full of Brewers chorused again, for the fifth time.

But not David, who grinned as broadly as he could while gritting his teeth. He forced a laugh. “You know I’d never seen that routine. It’s interesting how they used to make repeated violent assaults into comedy.”

An awkward pause later, Patrick chuckled. “I mean comedy has changed over the years. If you look at old Tom and Jerry cartoons, they were so violent.”

“Oh, the Road Runner,” Marcy Brewer piped up. “Wile. E. Coyote could not catch a break. And Daffy Duck used to have his face blown clean off.”

“Pretty grisly, in hindsight,” Clint agreed.

“Especially for children’s cartoons.”

The conversation spun away towards cartoons that Patrick had tortured his parents by watching over and over as a kid.

“What Saturday morning cartoons did you watch, David?” Patrick asked.

“Um.” David hesitated. He’d watched cartoons; of course he had. He remembered an assortment of Hanna Barbera cartoons, mostly in Spanish because the nanny preferred it and his mother approved of foreign language immersion. Then Jem & The Holograms, but mostly for the pop-meets-glam-rock style and to use it as inspiration for his own fledgling design efforts (which had been highly derivative and his mother had said so, but he had also been _four_ , so). But after that?

Patrick’s hand found his and squeezed.

David glanced over.

Patrick raised his eyebrows and inclined his head as if to say, _go on._

“I watched a lot of The Runway Report. It was also on Saturday mornings,” David explained.

“Is that a cartoon?” Patrick asked.

“No, it was worldwide fashion coverage.” David added, “Um, and Scooby Doo. In Spanish.” He remembered something else. “But then in Portugese, because my Guatemalan nanny Camila was replaced with my Brazilian nanny Maria, and then I started speaking Spanguese and we had to switch to an English-only policy in the house.”

The car was quiet.

“Also a show with kids singing? Kidz Bop?” David blurted.

The Brewers collectively _ohh-ed_ at this.

Clint’s eyes sparkled in the rearview mirror. “We know that one. Patrick watched that all the time, I swear he sang Sea Cruise at us over and over along with it—”

“We had to tape every episode,” Marcy chimed in from the passenger’s side.

“Is that why he asked us to buy the guitar?”

Marcy touched her husband’s shoulder. “No, that was later, after the first musical—”

Patrick lowered his face into his hands.

Clint glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Patrick, you remember how that one went, right? Ooh-wee, ooh-wee baby.”

His mother joined in singing. “Ooh-wee, ooh-wee, baby!”

And then David did too. “Ooh-wee,” he sang at Patrick, because he knew it; he’d seen that rerun a thousand times.

Patrick shook his head at his lap as he slowly turned red.

And as they tortured his future husband with a chorus of _Ooh-wee baby, won’t you let me take you on a sea cruise_ , David for the first time on the trip felt a burst of optimism.

*****

Marcy turned around in her seat. “Now, listen, boys. We didn’t get a hotel with a view because the ones near the falls charge for every little thing, even parking and Wi-Fi, and the rooms just aren’t that nice. It’s like they think because there’s a view they don’t have to try. But we have this place we love. I have to warn you, though, it’s not much to look at on the outside.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great, Mom,” Patrick said.

With Patrick’s fingers threaded with his own and after the benefit of a fortifying Mega Gulp and a bag of licorice procured at the last gas station stop, David felt he could handle just about anything. He’d lived, even thrived while residing in the Rosebud Motel. Granted, it had been upgraded slightly since their arrival – even the motel’s most ancient sheets hardly smelled of cigarettes at all anymore – but he’d slept there through some very dark times. He would get through this, he thought.

Then they pulled into the parking lot of the Sterling Inn & Spa.

It was not Sterling. It did not look like a charming Inn. You would not look at the hulking gray building with its mirrored windows and strip mall style parking lot with overgrown weeds in the corners and think ‘ah, surely this is the place to build my relaxing spa.’

Even Patrick’s lip curled.

David shot him a glance.

Patrick shot back a panicked micro-shrug.

Clint and Marcy Brewer chattered on about the amenities and pulled into parking spot near the entrance. There was no valet, just a squat, awning-covered staircase to the lobby. Above it, a tower that looked suspiciously like a giant painted-over milk bottle rose into the sky.

“It used to be an old bottling plant before they made it into a hotel and spa,” Clint explained.

David and Patrick took their time getting out. Clint and Marcy grabbed their bags from the trunk first and almost sprinted inside, leaving their son and his fiancé standing in the lot alone.

Patrick grabbed his duffel bag first. He slung it over one shoulder and helped David out with his rolling bag and supplemental overnight duffel. He shut the trunk and let out a long, slow breath. “Okay, so this doesn’t look good.”

“It does not,” David confirmed, trying not to gawk at the industrial-ness of the surrounding neighborhood buildings.

“But it’s two days, and this one is already half-over,” Patrick said.

David extended the telescoping handle of his rolling bag. “Except we’re leaving the morning of the third day, so it’s not as if we—”

“David, I know you didn’t want to come, okay? I know you’re doing this as a favor to me,” Patrick snapped at the concrete. “I’m trying to stay positive.”

“Whoa, hey, hey.” David instinctively reached out and took Patrick by the shoulders. Patrick had worn his favorite light blue button-up with his favorite under-twenty-dollar brown woven belt and one of his two favorite pairs of dark wash Levi’s, and only now David considered what that meant. He’d dressed for luck? To make a good impression? David mentally kicked himself. He’d been so wrapped up in his own anxiety that he hadn’t stopped to consider what this meant to Patrick. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, David,” Patrick said, in a clipped tone that made it clear he was _not fine, not fine at all._

“Is this about the Sea Cruise?” David asked.

Somehow, this made Patrick laugh.

To the point where David narrowed his eyes. “Patrick.”

“Sorry, I—it was a long drive, and…” He sighed and sagged against the car. “I just want this to go well.” Patrick’s voice was quiet, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “I need this to go well.” He nodded. “I’m. David, when Rachel and I got engaged…”

David’s smile stretched tightly across his face.

“It’s just—I wasn’t happy. But I pretended like I was because I was supposed to be happy. And then I couldn’t pretend. Even before things fell apart, I was kind of a jerk about it to them. My parents would try to help us plan and I would shut down or lash out and now—I feel a lot of pressure to make it up to them. Give them some good pre-wedding memories. And I know my focus should be on you and actually planning the wedding, but…”

David found himself nodding along. “You want to make your parents happy. I get it.” He carefully took Patrick in his arms. Patrick fit against him. David felt Patrick’s breath hitch and held on tighter.

A box truck with squealing brakes stopped at the sign at the nearest corner and then puffed away.

Finally, David let go. “It’s not that I didn’t want to come. It’s that I feel a lot of pressure, too, okay? Your parents are really—nice—people. And we both know that I am—not, so much.”

“Oh, come on, David. That was one conversation ages ago and I was teasing you,” Patrick said.

“I’m just saying. I am aware that your parents may like me. But I am not the world’s most likeable person. And I would rather not accidentally turn them both against me, especially because I know how important they are to you.”

Patrick pulled back and looked him in the eye. “I am not going to let that happen. I promise.”

“Okay, well then I promise to try and stay positive. We’ll get through this.” He glanced up at the milk bottle over the entrance. “But while we’re alone, honestly, what the fuck _is_ that?”

“I have _no_ idea,” Patrick said.

“Boys!” Marcy called from the lobby entrance. “We’re all checked in, come on.”

*****

David raised one eyebrow when they entered a tastefully appointed and polished lobby. It was simple and yet impactful. White paint and accents stood out against dark wood and stone.

He raised his second eyebrow when he and Patrick were escorted to their room, left alone to ‘freshen up’, and they entered a large, airy room with a soft king-size four poster bed, a sumptuous sitting area, and a very large jetted garden bathtub. David just blinked at it all for a few moments. A binder with a menu for room service? And what was that—“Oh my god, Patrick!”

Patrick popped out of the bathroom. “What? What’s happened?”

David held up a long printed card. “This. Is for placing your breakfast order. That they bring to your room at a time you specify. Look at it. You check the boxes of the drinks you want. Orange juice. Grapefruit juice. Tea. Coffee. All of them. And it’s complimentary, included with your stay.”

Patrick blinked at him.

David fanned himself with the card. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They bring breakfast to your room. A nice room that is clean and bordering on classy. There are freshly laundered cotton robes over there.” When he opened his eyes again, he found Patrick grinning at him.

“If it makes you feel better, we have a terrible view,” Patrick said.

“It does,” David admitted. “And there’s the bathtub. Like oddly near the middle of the room but I like the idea that I could watch television and take a bath if I wanted to.”

“Uh. I’m not sure this big tub is for watching TV in.” Patrick eyed David up and down.

His fiancé was not a natural leer-er, but he tried and David appreciated being appreciated. “You want to… in the tub?” Somehow they’d drawn closer to each other, and then David’s hand slid through Patrick’s hair and they kissed hungrily. He broke off. “Wait, your parents. Did they—”

Patrick’s kiss-reddened lips looked good on him. “My Mom said they’d swing by to pick us up for dinner at six. Which gives us two hours alone.” He frowned. “And she winked at me.”

“Oh.” David frowned too. “Wait, was she insinuating that we’d—or that they were—”

Patrick shook his head. “Don’t think about it.”

“Hmkay.” David nodded. “But filling a tub that size is going to take the entire two hours.”

“How about a shower instead?”

David kissed Patrick as his way of saying yes, but somehow he ended up backing Patrick up until they hit the king-sized bed, and from there it seemed a lot easier to press him down onto its soft mattress and take his time unbuttoning every button, starting from the one at Patrick’s collar. He took off Patrick’s belt, unbuttoned him, unzipped him, and palmed Patrick’s cock through his boxers.

“David,” Patrick gasped.

Then it became a scramble to get both of them out of their clothes. Okay, a careful scramble in David’s case, because he’d spent weeks stalking auction listings for this sweater and Patrick had learned to be careful with David’s knits. But he still hurried; David wasn’t sure why, but he felt a strange urgency even though they had hours, privacy, and Patrick kissed him as hotly as he ever had.

“So, no shower then?” Patrick asked, his eyes wide and innocent as David stripped him down to nothing while he laid back on soft white sheets.

“If you’re good, you can have one after.”

Patrick shivered and his cock stiffened further, already looking flushed and aching against his pale stomach. “You’re so bossy.”

David didn’t miss how his fiancé’s thighs parted when he said it, or the challenging tilt of his chin. “It’s easy to be mistaken for bossy when it’s just you knowing the correct way to do things.” He felt Patrick’s eyes on his body as he stepped out of his own silky black briefs.

“Oh.” Now Patrick’s face looked as flushed as his cock. “What’s correct in, uh, this instance?” he asked, but barely hesitated before adding, “There’s lube in the side pocket of my bag.”

David found it and joined Patrick on the bed. He flipped open the cap on the bottle and squeezed a little into his palm, then wrapped his hand around Patrick’s cock. He loved watching the way Patrick’s eyes closed and his lips parted as David stroked him, and equally loved his soft shocked _ohh_ when David’s slick finger found his entrance. He let his own cock press just briefly against Patrick’s thigh; too much too fast, and he wouldn’t be able to hold out long enough.

“David,” Patrick half-whispered, half-moaned. He pulled David in for a kiss. His breath hitched as David’s second finger slid inside him. His fingers sank into David’s hair. They traded sloppy, open-mouthed kisses until Patrick’s heels kicked at the sheets and he broke off, his eyes wild. “Please, David.”

“I mean, I don’t want to feel like you’re rushing me,” David said. He’d meant it as a tease, but it came out with a darker, serious edge.

But instead of getting annoyed or bossy himself, Patrick melted against him. “Please,” he begged. Then he looked into David’s eyes, a spark of mischief in his own. “Fuck me with your big, hard cock,” he whispered, half-joking, half-serious.

David didn’t come immediately, but it was nearer than he would ever admit to Patrick. He wondered if what he’d said was some quote from a dirty movie. Patrick as a rule didn’t say much in bed, and when he did it wasn’t dirty talk. And it seemed weird to monologue in bed, so David didn’t talk much either. But now, in a strange hotel room, with Patrick writhing and moaning on his fingers and urging him on, it felt fine. “I don’t know. Maybe I should make you beg some more. So I know you really want it. So when I finally do—wait, what did you want me to do again?”

Now Patrick didn’t look so together. He moaned as David’s fingers slid in just a little deeper. “Fuck me, David? Please? I need you.”

He couldn’t draw out the game a second longer. Not with Patrick looking at him like that. He slid his fingers out of Patrick and added a little lube to his own erection.

Patrick’s erection hadn’t flagged a bit, but he slowly stroked himself as he raised his knees, opening himself up to David.

He lined himself up with Patrick’s entrance and slowly, inexorably pushed his way inside. David had to bite his lip against the intense sensation of tight heat and warmth surrounding him. He felt the gold rings on his left hand as he held Patrick’s thigh.

“Oh my God,” Patrick murmured as he adjusted.

David watched his fiancé’s eyes flutter shut, his mouth drop open. He thrust in and out with aching slowness. Not to torture or tease Patrick, but because he felt dangerously close to the edge himself. He bent down and stole a kiss from Patrick’s parted lips.

Patrick opened his eyes. He leaned up, caught David’s mouth in another kiss, and whispered against his mouth, “Harder.”

David went with it. He sped up his strokes and concentrated on the small, frantic noises Patrick made, the way Patrick clutched at David’s shoulders, his ass, pulling him in deeper, harder. The bed frame creaked and their moans echoed in the airy room. “Patrick,” David barely had time to gasp out, and then he was coming, thrusting himself inside Patrick until he felt utterly, totally spent. For a moment, he just breathed. Then he raised his head.

Patrick smirked. “You good?”

“Very.” David resisted the urge to wipe away sweat. He softened and slipped out of Patrick with a groan.

Patrick politely cleared his throat.

“Oh, don’t worry,” David said, before he slid down and took Patrick’s still-hard cock in his mouth. David clocked the blowjob at about thirty seconds.

*****

They didn’t end up leaving until 6:15, since David’s hair needed the extra time to adjust to the higher humidity, but a short stroll down two streets took them to what passed for an actual non-chain Italian restaurant. They made small talk as they waited for and sat down at a table. David nodded and made excited faces at Marcy while she recounted a previous vacation of theirs at the falls, and a sudden drop in temperatures meant they’d had to buy a pair of jackets with CANADA emblazoned on the back.

“We pretended we were tourists for the rest of the trip,” Marcy said.

“Oh, what, you did funny accents?” Patrick asked.

Clint grinned. “We pretended to be from… Minnesota.” He elbowed his wife and they both giggled.

“Oh don’tcha know!” Marcy did her best Frances McDormand _a la_ Fargo.

“Oh, gee gosh there, Marcy,” Clint responded.

To David, it sounded like his voice hadn’t changed at all. “Honestly if I didn’t know you weren’t American,” David lied, “I would have no idea.”

Patrick’s foot nudged his underneath the table. _Laying it on a little thick, but they love it,_ his smile said.

It wasn’t until David had inhaled most of a wood-fired pepperoni, olive, and artichoke pizza that Marcy leaned over and asked sweetly, “So, David, how’s the wedding planning going?”

David choked. He coughed. Or rather, he tried to. But there seemed to be something stuck in his airway. He tried again to cough, which still didn’t work. He reached for his water, but switched directions when he realized he couldn’t breathe. He pounded his fist against his chest.

“David? David?!” Patrick called.

The world became fuzzy. Then a pair of strong, be-sweatered arms pulled him into a bear hug from behind. Before David could get his bearings, he felt a blow to his solar plexus. A piece of improperly chewed artichoke arced through the air and landed in a neighboring table’s wine glass.

“David. Oh my God, David. Are you okay?” Patrick asked.

David nodded. His throat ached, but breathing definitely beat not breathing. He let Patrick help him back into his chair. Around them, people in the restaurant applauded.

“Oh wow,” someone said. “You saved his life!”

David opened up his mouth to insist that he’d been fine, really, but Patrick interrupted him.

“Dad,” he said, voice full of pride, “you saved David’s life!”

And then the Brewers were hugging and David was hugged and suddenly there were Random. People. Hugging. Him. Niagara Falls was full of huggers. David preferred to hug one single person, and that was Patrick. But when he looked over at his fiancé, he caught sight of the relieved and slightly misty expression on Patrick’s face and let himself be hugged until they were all finally able to escape the restaurant.

On the way back to the hotel? Spa? Inn? Whatever, the group was quiet. Patrick’s fingers laced with David’s.

“You know someone else would’ve stepped in. I just happened to be there first,” Clint said.

“Mm, yes, well, I am still glad to be breathing, so. Thank you for that,” David said.

Patrick squeezed his hand.

“It’s just this place,” Marcy spoke up. “Something wild always happens in Niagara Falls.”

“Slowly I turn,” all the Brewers chorused.

As they got to the hotel and split off down different sections of hallway, David whispered to Patrick, “No offense, but this trip has been very strange so far.”

“I know. But we only have to keep you breathing for another day and a half,” Patrick said as he steered them inside.

*****

David buried his head under the covers while he let Patrick answer the door. He was just thinking about sleeping in some more when the scents of hot room service breakfast wafted towards him.

Patrick’s side of the bed dipped. Silverware clinked.

David smelled something amazing. “Flmm-phhsm,” he said. He pulled the covers down beneath his chin and opened one bleary eye.

Eggs and cheese. A single, steaming bite on the end of a fork.

David opened his mouth and let Patrick feed him. He groaned around it. “S’good.”

“Mm-hm, and if someone doesn’t get up and eat his half he just might lose it,” Patrick said.

David stuck out his lower lip. He opened both eyes.

Patrick sat up on the pillows next to him, a large and fully-laden breakfast tray in front of him. It had eggs, fruit cups, little tartlets that looked savory but maybe weren’t, two sausage links per plate, tiny juice bottles and glasses, a carafe of coffee, and a pot of sweetener and creamer.

The tiniest, snobbiest little voice inside David noted that the tartlets had clearly come from a package and weren’t baked from scratch, the sausages looked suspiciously like those served with the all-day breakfast available at the Café Tropical, the orange juice was of course from concentrate and not fresh-squeezed, the fruit mostly cheap melon. It was the kind of room service breakfast that a younger, pre-Schitt’s Creek him would’ve complained about.

But now, David watched his sleep-rumpled fiancé bite into a tartlet. He thought about how alone he’d been for those other breakfasts, how good the eggs tasted, and about how nice the first bite was when someone you loved fed it to you.

A few crumbs fell onto Patrick’s sleep shirt. He usually hated it when they ate in his bed back at the apartment. But here, he just brushed them off toward the side of the bed. “Mmm,” he said after the first mouthful. “It’s spinach and something. Ham?”

David noticed again that his fiancé wasn’t wearing a ring, mostly because David hadn’t been able to pick one out. He had looked at rings for Patrick, but those forays into the jewelry world had gone about as well as the rest of his planning attempts. Patrick needed something classic, elegant, and understated. It was harder than it seemed. It was all harder than it had seemed.

Patrick chuckled down at him. “Come on. My parents are taking us out on The Hornblower today and we can’t be late.”

“The Hornblower?” David dragged himself into a sitting position.

Patrick put a coffee mug in his hand. “It’s the boat that takes you out by the falls. It’s pretty neat. At least, teenage me was impressed by it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be tourist-tastic.” David let Patrick’s elbow jostle his arm ever-so-slightly as he drank coffee. Breakfast tasted amazing. The tartlets were spinach, ham, and gruyere. “This is really delicious.”

Patrick hummed his agreement. “Just remember to thoroughly chew.”

David couldn’t hit him with a pillow because of the breakfast. “Oh, I will. I don’t know how fast your father can get here to give me the Heimlich.”

“He just dove right in! I didn’t even get a chance to get up.”

“Mm-hm.” David raised an eyebrow.

“David.” Now it was Patrick’s turn to pout.

David kissed him and stole one of his sausages.

In revenge, Patrick drank David’s juice.

*****

They met Patrick’s parents in the lobby and headed out.

“It’s a nice walk. Just a couple of blocks,” Marcy said. “I can’t believe you’ve never been to the falls before, David.”

David had wanted to stay in step with Patrick, but the sidewalk only fit two at a time and Marcy commandeered him. “I’ve done a lot of traveling. Just, you know, there’s a lot of world.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Where’s the most exotic place you think you’ve ever been?” she asked.

His mouth opened and shut. As the industrial feel of the buildings near the Inn gave way to touristy trinket shops and chain fast food eateries, David considered all his trips. He also considered how many of them he’d spent in spacious hotel rooms, ordering familiar food and watching English-speaking shows on cable instead of seeing the sights. “Paris,” he finally said, which was the only city he could think of and seemed like the least exotic place ever the moment he said it.

“I bet Paris was very cosmopolitan. Very international.” Marcy tucked her hand into the crook of David’s elbow. “Have you ever seen _Les Mis_ , the musical? Did you see the latest movie version?”

“Oh, don’t start this again,” Clint piped up from behind them.

“Pay him no attention, dear. What did you think of Hugh Jackman’s performance?” Marcy asked. As they walked, the breeze whipped past them. Other tourists began to fill the sidewalks. And somewhere close by, there came a distant thundering roar.

“Um.” David remembered starting it with Patrick, but not much more than that. “I liked him in _Kate and Leopold_?”

Patrick swooped in from behind them. “He’s a good actor, but he doesn’t have the range.”

“He hits all the notes,” Marcy insisted.

“He’s no Colm Wilkinson,” Patrick said.

“Well, who is? Vocal range aside, Valjean is supposed to be inhumanly strong and so many actors don’t convey that well.”

“Mom, you’re crazy,” Patrick said fondly, and somehow they do-si-do’ed and he walked with his mother up front, leaving David walking behind with Clint.

Clint was taller and somewhat broader than David, and together they took up the entire width of the sidewalk. The breeze didn’t disturb so much as a hair on his head.

David wanted to ask him what sort of product he used. But he didn’t, and the moment passed and Patrick and his mother were arguing in a familiar we’ve-had-this-one-before way while he and Clint walked along in increasingly awkward and painful silence. The distant roar drew closer and closer, like they were being stalked by some sort of wild animal—

And then Clint clapped a hand on David’s shoulder. “Watch this,” he whispered, and raised his voice to his wife and son. “I thought Russell Crowe did a decent job.”

Slowly, Marcy and Patrick turned. They glanced at each other with identically horrified expressions and launched into an attack on Russell Crowe’s vocal ability, acting prowess, and personal judgement at daring to accept the role of Javert. At some point they seemed to forget Clint and David were there at all and resumed the walk, never breaking off the assault on the _Gladiator_ star.

Clint chuckled as they followed. He spoke quietly to David. “They’re so much alike, but don’t you ever tell either of them that.”

“I will absolutely not,” David promised.

“We’re really glad you agreed to come,” Clint said. “I feel like we missed out on some time. You know, with you and Patrick. I remember we’d be on the phone with him and he’d tell us about his ‘good friend David.’ And we’d say to each other, ‘okay, maybe he’s out in some strange town finding himself, but at least he’s got a friend there with him.’”

David pressed his lips together to stifle a grin. They’d been ‘business partners,’ and not even really friends for long before they’d been—well, more than friends. “I was glad we met each other when we did. I was very lucky.”

“And now you’re getting married,” Clint said.

“Yes,” David agreed.

“Have you two narrowed in on a time frame?”

David had not. Even this choice seemed fraught with issues. Every season had its good and bad points. Different times of day had their good and bad points. Patrick had helped him make lists of the good and bad points. All those lists could be found in the binder back at the apartment, the helpful binder his lovely fiancé had made that David had utterly failed to use because he was paralyzed and Patrick and his family were never going to forgive him when their wedding was a total failure. David opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. He heard the roaring in his ears rise as they turned the corner.

“Oh, there it is,” Marcy announced.

Great plumes of mist rose high into the air. David and the Brewers followed them across a road and a park, and finally they found themselves at a railing overlooking a rushing river. And in the distance stood a ring of several towering waterfalls. Water spilled over the tops and hurtled down into a roaring cauldron of mist and water. A ferry boat chugged its way up the river towards the falls. The mist above created a rainbow in the morning sunshine.

Patrick leaned on the railing at his side. He looped his arm through David’s and leaned his head on David’s shoulder.

David felt a strange prick of tears in his eyes and blinked it back.

“It’s a view,” Patrick said softly.

David could only nod. He covered Patrick’s hand with his own and held on.

*****

“Oh my God,” David said. He unfurled the poncho. “Has this ever been cleaned? Is the sweaty funk of two thousand tourists embedded in it?”

“Pretty sure they rip apart faster than two thousand wearings.” Patrick had already put on his own cheap plastic poncho.

Marcy and Clint frowned at them from near the entrance line to the Hornblower, the name of the ferryboat that carried tourists up the Niagara River to get a close-up view of the falls.

“Okay. Well. I thought we were going to look at a waterfall. I was not informed that our outing today would involve water sports.” David realized what it sounded like the moment he said it, and grimaced.

Patrick missed it entirely. “Your hair will survive. I promise. Just put on the poncho. Please?” He leaned over and gave David a quick peck on the lips.

David melted. “It’s not the hair,” he protested, but wrestled himself into the poncho. It draped poorly and had already ripped a little in the back, just covering the bulk of the black and white dove-patterned Givenchy sweater he’d chosen for the day’s outing. But the poncho did nothing to protect his French suede hi-tops.

Patrick smoothed it down across his chest. “I think it looks good on you.”

David’s heart swelled. Well. The hi-tops were six seasons out of date anyway. “Come on, let’s go for a big wet boat ride.”

He and the Brewers boarded the ferry along with at least a hundred other tourists, all in the same recycled plastic ponchos. They found a spot along a railing and in just a few minutes the boat chugged into motion.

He listened to Marcy and Clint’s commentary as they chugged past the American Falls, a wall of rocky waterfalls on their left.

“The Niagara River is part of the border between the United States and Canada,” Marcy recited. “The American Falls are so named because they belong to the American side. But of course, the real attraction is coming up.”

“Horseshoe Falls,” Clint added, nodding. “They’re the stars. That’s where you really get wet.”

David looked past the American Falls, which were very nice, as far as waterfalls went. But the rising roar and the floating wall of mist coming toward them made him edge behind Patrick. He glanced down at his hi-tops.

“Are you okay?” Patrick asked him.

“Fine. I’m fine.” David ran his hands down over his fiancé’s shoulders. Puddles were already collecting on the boat’s deck.

But Patrick caught his glance. “Oh, no. David, your shoes. They’re suede.”

“It’s fine,” David said, in a voice too high. “French suede.”

“They’ll get ruined.” Patrick glanced around. “Is there a dry place to stand?”

“No, and we’re about to be in the middle of it. David, take your shoes off,” Marcy ordered.

David protested, but then he had two Brewers at his feet, forcibly undoing his laces. He blinked up at Clint.

Clint, his hair still perfect, just smiled pleasantly. He inclined his head at his wife and son and shrugged his shoulders as if to say _what did I tell you?_

With moments to spare, Patrick and Marcy wrestled David out of his shoes. Each tucked a hi-top underneath their ponchos, leaving David in his socked feet. They were instantly soaked as the Hornblower began a slow chug closer and closer toward the center of the Horseshoe Falls.

David, Patrick, and the Brewers crowded together at the railing and gazed into and up at the walls of white water roaring around them on all sides. The waterfalls churned the river into a thick white foam that obscured the surface of the water and kicked up a mist so thick, it felt like rainstorm – only coming at them from every angle. The roar was incredible; David squeezed his eyes shut and hugged Patrick as he held onto the railing. The boat felt rock-solid and yet the turbulence around them seemed too intense. They couldn’t possibly be safe. Nothing could survive here for long. How had people ever tried going over it in barrels? That was a part of the whole ‘Niagara Falls’ thing, right?

And then gradually, the boat turned and chugged its way out of the cauldron of the waterfalls, leaving them all damp …and David awed.

The Brewers helped him disembark in squelching socked feet. He bore it with as much dignity as possible, which wasn’t much, but at seeing Patrick and his mother’s grins when presenting him with his not-at-all-ruined hi-tops, he forgot any embarrassment.

“Thank you,” he told them both. David’s nose wrinkled. “I hope they didn’t smell. I do use insoles.”

“You’re welcome,” Patrick supplied.

They debated stopping back in at the Inn versus wandering around town and air-drying in the sunshine. David took off his wet socks and wore just his hi-tops. Clint and Marcy’s shoes had also taken a worse hit than expected from the falls, but Patrick’s had made it out mostly unscathed.

“I can run back and get the spares. It’ll take me ten minutes and no one will get blisters walking around town,” Patrick said. “Give me your shoes and your room key. David will be happy to keep you company.”

David’s eyebrows bobbled back and forth, hopefully telegraphing _Um, Patrick? Do not leave me alone with my future in-laws._

But Patrick’s steady gaze communicated back – _David, I have total confidence in you and also please don’t be difficult, since you’re already being difficult about the wedding._

Okay, David thought, maybe that last part was him editorializing a bit.

“We could just buy some flip-flops,” Clint suggested.

A nearby stand sold rows of neon plastic flip-flop sandals, some with counterfeit Disney characters on the toe straps.

David spoke before thinking. “Oh, no. _Those_ are not an option.”

“He’s right. Room key,” Patrick insisted.

Marcy handed it over along with their shoes. David surrendered his wet socks. Patrick began the trip up the road toward the Inn and left the three of them to sit on a bench overlooking the river.

“Lot of traffic on the Rainbow Bridge today,” Clint noted.

“Oh, it looks awful,” Marcy agreed.

David frowned. He pointed at the wide bridge downriver. It was choked with cars. “That’s the ‘Rainbow Bridge’?”

Patrick’s parents nodded. “It’s the border. You can drive over it into the U.S.,” Marcy said.

“Not that there’s any reason to,” Clint chimed in.

“The beer is a little cheaper. We went a few years ago to check it out. All the good stuff is here on the Canadian side anyway.”

David laughed. “I’ll have to tell my sister Alexis’s boyfriend Ted—he’s a veterinarian—”

“Oh, yes, Ted,” said Marcy.

“We’ve heard about Ted.”

“He says that whenever a pet dies, they go over the Rainbow Bridge.” David swallowed. Suddenly what had seemed funny seemed—maybe not funny? “So it’s—I mean. There actually is a Rainbow Bridge.”

Clint folded his arms and stretched his legs. His pale, bare feet stuck out in the sunshine. “I wonder. If you declared it, do you think you could take a dead pet across the border?”

Marcy’s toes had been painted pink. “They make you declare all sorts of things. Maybe if you hid it and didn’t say anything.”

“Then you’re a smuggler,” Clint pointed out.

Marcy considered this. “But what if you lived in Schitt’s Creek, and your beloved dog Spot died and the local veterinarian told your children that he’d gone over the Rainbow Bridge? If you drove your pet over the border, you could insist it was the truth and you wouldn’t be lying.”

“Patrick would never have bought it.”

David thought he might be going slightly crazy, but he decided to lean into it. He found his sunglasses in his pocket and put them on. “Is Patrick a dog person?”

Clint didn’t hesitate. “Cats.”

“I knew it,” said David.

“When he was little, he used to make me buy extra tuna so he could give it to Mr. Willikens, the tabby across the street,” said Marcy.

The man at the flip-flop stand had a cooler with cold drinks in it; David took orders and bought them all one. He got Patrick a root beer.

That’s when David spotted the couple.

He wore a dark suit with a purple tie; she wore a white wedding gown and a thrown-back veil. They both wore smiles. He heard her giggling as they crossed the edge of the park arm-in-arm, heading maybe for the Hornblower ticket booth, or maybe one of the hotels along the ridge near the river, or maybe their wedding.

But no, David thought as he returned to the bench and handed over drinks. It was in the way they focused on each other. The couple were already married. They were together and happy and would be forever, just like Patrick’s parents, and his own parents.

Clint’s arm rested on the back of the bench behind Marcy’s shoulders. She opened his drink for him and passed it over. He thanked her without words.

David sat down on the bench near them and felt …alone.

Which was ridiculous; Patrick was on his way back. But some anxious thread running through him made David scan the street for his fiancé. What if he didn’t come back? What if, on his way back to the Inn, he’d run into the same happy couple and thought _those two got married, and I bet neither of them made even one binder_ and _I wish it were easy, not like it is with David._ “Were you upset when Patrick broke things off with Rachel?” The moment he said it, horror rose up in his chest, forcing his throat closed more effectively than a piece of artichoke.

Clint and Marcy blinked at him.

David opened his mouth to apologize and take the question back.

Then Marcy and Clint both looked shifty, glanced at each other, and checked out the street leading to the hotel. No Patrick.

Marcy spoke first. “David, dear? We were so relieved when he broke it off.”

Clint nodded.

“Um. Oh?” David croaked.

“The night it happened, we opened up a nice bottle of sparkling wine,” Marcy added. She glanced back at the road to the hotel and frowned. “It sounds terrible, doesn’t it? We felt so awful for Rachel, she’s lovely, and her family are wonderful people.”

“Wonderful,” Clint echoed, the worry lines around his eyes deepening.

“But she and Patrick made each other miserable,” Marcy said.

Clint sipped his soda and shook his head.

“I mean it’s difficult to see inside a relationship from the outside, but it just seemed like none of their goals went together. Sometimes the way they talked, it seemed like holding that relationship together was like a second job for both of them.”

“And not a second job you want to go to,” Clint added. “There was not a lot of good feeling. Especially towards the end.”

“I think it can be hard to end something when you’re both good people, and no one’s done anything wrong.” Marcy reached out and touched David’s wrist. “We were the opposite of upset that they broke up. And we are the opposite of upset that our son found you.”

Clint joined in. “The day after the party, after he’d told us that you two were together? He kept us on the phone most of the drive home.”

“David this and David that and ‘Well, what David thinks is…’” Marcy teased. She crossed her ankles and gazed out over the park and the river beyond.

“‘I want to marry him’ came pretty quickly after that,” Clint added.

“To be honest, we worried he might be taking things a little fast. But when we went back and re-imagined all those ‘my good friend David’ stories as ‘my boyfriend David’ stories—”

“He’s really happy,” Clint finished. “You make him really happy.”

Marcy beamed. “So we’re excited.”

David had to look away. He nodded at his lap, which seemed safer and less emotional than looking up at majestic waterfalls and eloping couples in love and his beaming future in-laws. He cleared his throat. “He makes me really happy, too.” David felt bizarrely misty-eyed again, okay, what the _actual fuck_ was wrong with him today? He juggled his off-brand diet cola and the root beer long enough to open his drink.

“…Anything on your mind, dear?” Marcy asked gently.

He was _not_ going to cry, he was going to smile and put on a happy face and give Patrick and his parents a fucking _majestic_ weekend getaway to their favorite spot with their son who was at least sixty percent of the reason David got out of bed in the mornings, and one hundred percent the reason he still had the store and was thought of as a successful businessman and occasionally called Mr. Rose instead of David (which, despite Alexis’s insistence, had nothing to do with the very annoying gray hairs that had been popping up with increasing frequency), and one thousand percent the reason David knew what it was like to push past all his mounting waves of anxiety to arrive at a mildly self-actualized place where he could trust that Patrick loved him, like actually _loved_ him, and sometimes it was all a little _much_.

Marcy and Clint Brewer had the world’s kindest eyes.

David’s voice didn’t break. “I am having a very hard time with the wedding planning. I am supposed to be the one in our relationship who knows how to do this. I have planned many events. Well-executed, tasteful, stylish, memorable. Do you need a birthday party planned? I can do it. Anniversary party? Party to mourn the passing of your cousin Marjorie’s favorite goldfish?”

Clint raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, I planned the best goldfish funeral in the history of Schitt’s Creek.” David frowned. “Or at least the only one that didn’t involve a flush at the end.” He was getting off track. “That’s not the point. The point is—I know us. I love us. I should be able to do this. And it’s—been very hard.” And then, because apparently he was driving the boat straight into the center of Overshare Falls, David said, “Which is making me wonder if I’m a complete sham of an entire person, because I really want to marry your son and yet I am just, like, totally creatively blocked and I’m trying not to read more into that but it’s hard not to.”

The party on the bench sat in silence for a few moments.

“Well, the goldfish was already dead, wasn’t it?” Clint offered.

David blinked over at him.

“There’s a lot less pressure to throw a party for a dead goldfish. Than to plan your own wedding.”

Marcy patted David’s hand again. “You two will work it out just fine. And if it’s not the most unique, creative, most well-executed wedding ever—you’ll still be married at the end. That’s the part that counts.”

“Our wedding was an absolute disaster,” Clint added.

“Oh, yes,” said Marcy.

David swiveled towards them on the bench.

*****

“I am really sorry,” Patrick said. “I got the room keys mixed up, and then I accidentally locked myself out of our room, and… it was a whole thing. Anyway, I’m here now.” He passed out shoes and socks to his parents and had remembered a pair of socks for David. “Are you guys—getting along?”

“Okay,” David began. “I got you a root beer but it is now a little on the warm side. How have you never told me that your parents set their own wedding _on fire_?”

Marcy lapsed back into her eighth round of hysterical giggles as she tried to get her dry socks on. Clint shook his head and daubed at the tears of laughter leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

“Oh.” Patrick traded David socks for the root beer. “I—didn’t want to put it in your head as something that could go wrong.”

“I told your Grandmother there were too many candles,” Marcy gasped between giggle-fits. “She wouldn’t listen.”

Patrick gave them a hard look before he looked back at David. “I don’t think it’s a very funny story. Someone could’ve really gotten hurt.”

“But,” David protested through his own laughter, “They caught the cake on fire. How do you catch a cake on fire?”

Clint answered. “You let Cousin Leroy re-spray paint all the cake toppers last-minute, because they weren’t the right kind of blue.”

“Wait, hold on, ‘all the cake toppers’? How many cake toppers does one cake support?” David asked.

“The whole thing was covered.”

Marcy could hardly breathe, but gasped out, “It was the ugliest cake—I’ve ever seen!”

“But free! It was all free, generously gifted by our bad-at-listening-to-us families,” Clint prodded at her shaking sides, half-tickling, half-goading.

“Wasn’t worth what we paid for it!”

David could see the wheels turning on Patrick’s inner risk calculator, and wondered if hearing this horrific story in his childhood—a story in which no one had been hurt, despite the loss of a not-to-code outbuilding on an Uncle’s farm and the irreparable singeing of the bridal party’s clothes—had been how his fiancé developed his affinity for actuarial tables. He reached for Patrick’s hand. “If it makes you feel better, we can have LED candles at our wedding. And a fully raw vegan menu. No flame required.”

This shook Patrick out of his horrified stare and into another. “David, you know I like vegetarian food. But at our last barbeque, you asked why the coleslaw didn’t have any meat in it.”

David thought out loud. “I still don’t understand coleslaw. Like, what is it? What is it doing on a plate?”

“Our wedding will be coleslaw-free, then.” Patrick sounded a little tetchy.

“Did you really want coleslaw?” David asked.

“No, I don’t care about—wow.” Patrick pulled his phone out and glanced at it. “Oh, look at the time. Getting late. Hey, how about we go see the butterflies?”

“I love the butterflies,” Marcy pronounced.

“To the butterflies!” Clint agreed.

The party rose from the bench and began the dry-footed walk back to the hotel and the car, which they’d need to reach the nearby Butterfly Conservatory. David threaded his arm through Patrick’s. He only had to slouch a little to account for the height difference. He slowed their pace down, putting some distance between them and Patrick’s parents before asking, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Patrick said, in his not-fine way. He must’ve realized it, though, because he took a breath and let it out. “It’s just I was having my own comedy of errors and worried my parents were grilling you, but you were all having fun without me. And it was about that wedding story. That’s a scary story to a kid about his parents.”

David nodded. “I can understand that.”

“Also? I don’t want our wedding to be a disaster.” Patrick stopped on the sidewalk. Nearby, a fake skeleton hung in the window of a cut-rate and very out-of-season haunted house attraction. A taped loop of distant horror movie screams, witches cackling, and werewolves howling battled the noise of traffic moving up and down the road. Tourists strolled around and past them. “I know there are certain things in life we can’t control. But this isn’t a joke to me. I didn’t propose to you because ha-ha, wouldn’t it be hilarious if you were my husband.”

“I know that,” David said. “I don’t think weddings are a joke. I don’t want our wedding to be a joke.”

“Okay.” Patrick took a deep, deep breath and he fixed David with his gaze. “That’s good to hear, because sometimes it seems like I’m the only one who’s taking it seriously.”

_Oh my God,_ David thought. Of course Patrick had noticed. Of course. He’d made the binder. And to him, it just seemed like David didn’t care.

“Like, weddings don’t just happen,” Patrick went on. “You don’t just wake up and someone has planned everything for you unless you can pay for that, which we can’t, and you were the one that said you wanted to plan it anyway. Except you don’t seem to be planning it, or listening to any of my ideas—and I did not plan on having this conversation on a sidewalk while my worried parents are over there pretending not to stare at us. So I do apologize for that. But really. If you don’t want to get married, or if this is too soon, you need to let me know because that’s something I need to know.” Now it was Patrick’s turn to be the misty-eyed one.

And Patrick on the verge of tears wasn’t something David could bear, not for an instant. “The only thing I want to do is marry you. The only thing.” He took Patrick’s hands in his own. “I take our wedding very seriously. But your parents’ story? It actually made me feel better. Because I am terrified that no matter how hard I try, I will screw it up and it won’t be good enough and maybe the one bar I can clear is the one where I don’t literally burn it down. It’s like—event planning is the thing I’m supposed to be the best at, and I can’t make a single decision. I can’t even find the perfect ring for you.”

“You’ve been looking?” Patrick’s eyes softened.

“Of course I’ve been looking. Do you know how many commercial jewelry store and bespoke Etsy shop pages I’ve bookmarked? Four hundred and twenty-three. I’ve been to nine stores in person.”

“Are there even nine jewelry stores in Elmdale?”

“No, I had to drive a little further.” A lot, actually. “I didn’t want to admit it,” David confessed, “But I think I might really need your help.”

Screams emanated from the haunted house as a gaggle of tourists tumbled out, blinking into the bright sunshine.

Patrick squeezed his hands. “There’s a jewelry store around the corner. Let’s go shopping.”

“Your parents—”

“They’ll be fine. It’s their romantic weekend, too. Don’t ask me how I know that or what I saw in their bags next to their socks because I am not thinking about it,” Patrick added. He turned and offered a wave at his concerned parents. “We’re going ring shopping. You guys go see the butterflies,” he called. “We’ll meet up later.” 

They looked confused, but waved and nodded back.

*****

Unlike the mortal enemies David had made of the salespeople at all nine jewelry stores he’d spent hours at, the one in this small store still smiled at them as she rang up their purchase.

“Are you sure this is the one? This is something you’re going to be wearing for the rest of your life,” David said.

“I love the sentiment, but I’m beginning to see what the issue has been.” Patrick had looked at the rows and rows and rows of men’s rings. He’d chosen titanium, both for prince and durability, and had rejected complicated geometric designs in favor of a simple, silver-colored band with rounded edges and a subtle sine wave pattern etched onto the outside.

“Okay, it’s very nice, but the reason I was leaning toward a more traditional metal was that it’s hard to cut or resize a titanium ring if something happens. So you could lose the ring whereas one in silver? You could have that resized.”

“Well, I did plan on immediately putting on a lot of weight once we get married,” Patrick said, deadpan.

“Um, my ring size fluctuates after one night of too many cheese fries. Just saying.” David handed over his debit card. Even after the insane tourist-destination markup, the ring ended up being very affordable. It cost less than some of the cheapest he’d bookmarked.

“We should get poutine,” Patrick suggested. “There’s a place like three blocks that way.”

“You had me at cheese fries and gravy. Thanks so much,” David told the cashier, in just the same way he spoke to their own customers.

The afternoon sunshine streamed down. A pleasant breeze rustled the bag containing Patrick’s ring as they walked up the sidewalk towards the fabled poutine. Somewhere, Patrick’s mother and father were watching butterflies. Some tiny, bitter part of David’s mind noted that the streets were crowded, the shops overpriced, and hissed that he’d been ring shopping for weeks and Patrick had just picked one, who exactly was the one of them not taking their relationship seriously, hmm?

But that part of him shut up as David concentrated on the way it felt to hold Patrick’s hand, and see the pleased grin on his fiancé’s face, and how good it felt to smile back. He paused outside of the entrance to a Smoke’s Poutinerie, a small chain poutine restaurant which had a couple of wobby tables, but had clearly been designed to encourage you to take your cheesy gravy fries and go. The bag hung heavy on David’s arm.

Patrick looked up at him, happy but a little confused.

He’d kept waiting for the perfect moments. But just now, it felt pretty perfect. David fished the ring box out of the bag and got down on one knee. “Um,” he began, without knowing where he was going. Sincerity, he figured. “Patrick. I love you. And I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”

Patrick’s chest puffed out. He offered his hand.

David took the ring out of the box and put it on his fiancé’s finger.

Patrick looked at it like he hadn’t just picked it out, and then at David like they hadn’t just spent the entire day together. In fact, he looked at David like he hadn’t ever seen him before, and he couldn’t believe his eyes or his luck. “I will.”

David laughed. Maybe there were a couple of tears, too, but Patrick pulled him up and kissed him, held him, and David thanked the universe for… everything.

*****

“An ice luge?”

“For shots,” David said. “You said brainstorm.”

“I don’t think we want people doing shots at our wedding reception.”

“Well, they’re going to expect drinks.” David had no idea why he hadn’t sat down with Patrick before and hashed it all out, instead of watching in horror as the binder of possibilities got bigger and doing his best to avoid discussion. David had been too locked into his own head and pride to remember that actually? He and Patrick worked really, really well together. “What do you think?”

“Kegs?” Patrick offered.

David balanced gravy and curds on two soggy fries on his fork. Poutine was not a finger food. “That just feels like the party equivalent of—you’re thirsty? Here, belly up to this trough.”

Patrick shook his head. “People like kegs and it’s cost-effective.”

“If cost-effective is what we’re after, my mother can get us a good deal on remaindered discount fruit wine.”

Patrick made a face.

“Yeah. Well I think we at least need a signature cocktail.”

“What about this: a signature cocktail. Some decent but cheap bottles of wine. And a couple of kegs, for when people are too boozy to be judgmental. Good beer, though. Classy beer.”

David decided to be magnanimous. “Okay, but no IPAs. A nice hearty ale, perhaps?”

“It’s cute when you try to convince me you drink beer.” Patrick chuckled and made a note on one of the dozen or so napkins they’d filled with actual wedding plans. His cell phone chirped. “Oh, hey, my parents are done at the Butterfly Conservatory. They want to know if we want to meet them back at the hotel for—a facial.”

David’s fork froze.

Patrick blinked up at him. “Why does everything on this trip sound like a double entendre?”

“I believe your parents would blame ‘Niagara Falls,’” David pointed out. “Slowly I turn.”

His fiancé paused mid-text. “You just said the thing. Even though it’s been annoying you the entire trip.”

“The what?” David purposefully ignored his own slip-up.

Patrick snickered. “Do you want a spa treatment or not?”

David liked how the afternoon sunlight glinted off Patrick’s new ring. “Sure, why not, let’s get facials with your parents.”

*****

The Sterling Inn & Spa wasn’t much to look at on the outside, and didn’t have a view, but when you were swaddled in thick white robes, had a face full of deep conditioning moisturizer, and cucumber slices on your eyelids, you didn’t need to look at anything.

“The butterflies were so beautiful,” Marcy said. “You could have butterflies at your wedding.”

Patrick spoke up. “We are probably not going to involve any kind of creature that could possibly pass away.” He sounded dreamy.

“Makes sense,” Clint’s voice rumbled. “Long drive over the Rainbow Bridge.”

“What?” Patrick asked.

Marcy interrupted. “But you did decide on a color scheme?”

“Black, white, and light and dark blue,” David said. He listened to the soothing sounds of the rainforest and imagined his stress and worries literally melting away, dripping off him like rain running off of leaves in a jungle somewhere. South America? They had jungles there. Had to.

“And it’ll be in Schitt’s Creek?”

David might’ve heard a spa attendant snort at the name. He felt too relaxed to care.

“It’ll be the easiest on us, with the store,” Patrick said. “Obviously we’re going to book the motel for you and any family that wants to come. We’ll need a few more months to get everything planned, of course. So next spring?”

“Next spring,” David confirmed. The spa’s lounge chairs might’ve been more comfortable than the hotel’s beds. He felt boneless.

“That’s wonderful news,” Marcy said.

Someone snored.

“I think that’s Dad,” Patrick whispered.

“He didn’t get much sleep last night,” Marcy said.

Something from Patrick’s direction made a strangled noise.

Marcy went on. “We’d thought about going to the magic show across the street, but I think we may be calling it an early night. Order in some room service, a bottle of wine—”

“Gee, sounds great, Mom,” Patrick cut in.

“You boys can go if you want. It’s a good show. Or check out the nightlife. Or order in yourselves, I know you’ve had a busy day.”

Between the poutine, the planning, and the spa, David agreed that it did sound great. “I am headed straight for a nap after this.”

“Nap sounds good,” Patrick said.

Something in his voice made David shiver.

*****

They just made it back to the room before Patrick pressed him up against the wall.

David grinned. “What kind of napping is this?”

“This is a Niagara Falls nap. It’s a little different than your standard nap,” Patrick explained, before he dropped to his knees.

David hmmed and tried to hold himself together as Patrick took off his pants. He thought about mentioning the perfectly good bed across the room, but forgot everything when he felt Patrick’s lips kiss the tip of his cock. David felt himself engulfed in the tight wet heat of Patrick’s mouth and he clawed at the smooth wall behind him, hoping and totally failing to stay upright.

Patrick followed after him down onto the floor, and he looked so pleased with himself that David had to roll them both over and wrestle his fiancé out of his favorite shirt. Shoes and socks followed, then pants, and while David was distracted Patrick rolled them back over. He lined up their bare cocks and thrust against David, his mouth falling open into a breathy moan.

David pulled him down into a hot, sloppy kiss. Patrick rocked urgently against him. He moaned against David’s lips and gasped his name and _please._

David worked a hand between them. He held Patrick’s thick cock in his fist and tightened his grip, giving him just the right amount of pressure, flicking his thumb under the head of Patrick’s cock in the way that David knew drove him secretly crazy. David watched his eyes fall shut and his mouth drop open and thought _this is my husband_ and he came hard, unexpectedly, shuddering against Patrick and coming, coming, even as he felt Patrick follow him over the precipice.

After a few much slower, yet deeper and more affectionate kisses, they moved to the bed. Then they moved to the shower. Then back to the bed, then to the bath. After a soak, they ordered a room service  salad, cheese plate, wine, and dessert, and watched the Drew Barrymore & Hugh Grant rom-com _Music & Lyrics, _which David deemed charming but on the forgettable side.

Patrick fed himself and David little cubes of cheese, bites of salad, sips of wine. David returned the favor, though he wasn’t as adept with a fork as Patrick, and the sheets took some collateral cheesecake damage as a result.

“What if we had a cheese-based reception?” David mused.

“I like it. Just a lot of cheese. Huge wheels of it. Instead of a DJ, we could do one of those cheese races, where you roll the big wheel of cheese down the hill and try to catch it.”

David bought it for a second. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Hmkay, one? I really do love cheese. Two, people in Schitt’s Creek would love a cheese race. Three, they would love it so much they would forget about the main event, which is us getting married.”

“Ah, the fatal flaw in the cheese race plan.” Patrick fed David the last bite of cheesecake. “I guess we’ll just have to have a more traditional menu.”

David chewed and swallowed. “Mm, save the cheese race idea, though. We could move a lot of cheese, putting one of those on.”

Patrick leaned over and kissed him, long and slowly and fondly.

When he pulled back, David returned his smile. “What’s that about?”

“Nothing.” Patrick shrugged a shoulder. “I’m glad I get to marry you, David Rose.”

David wiggled until his head found the optimal angle in the crook of Patrick’s arm. “I’m glad I get to marry you, Patrick Brewer.”

Patrick beamed. “I’m glad you came on this trip.”

“Me, too,” David said.

*****

They lingered over the hotel’s in-room breakfast. It was just as good the second day.

“I love this place,” David said around a mouthful of buttery, toasty croissant. Patrick let David lick jelly off one of his thighs, though he blushed charmingly the whole time.

Patrick’s parents didn’t text back until almost eleven, well after they’d packed up.

“I wonder what they were doing for so long this morning,” David said.

“David. No,” Patrick warned him.

But finally they all met in the lobby, checked out, and loaded into the car.

Clint drove them down one last time along the road that ran parallel with the Niagara River, past the tourist stands and finally the roaring Falls themselves.

“Goodbye, Niagara Falls,” Marcy called.

“Slowly, I turn,” they all chorused. Even David.

He held Patrick’s hand most of the way home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at thecartwrite! Come say hi if you like. :)


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